


South Park Shorts

by kayshiaginger



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, But not always, Fluff, Loss, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, South Park x Reader, South Park: Bigger Longer and Uncut, South Park: The Fractured But Whole, South Park: The Stick of Truth, Tags May Change, creek - Freeform, gregstophe, is this loss, l ll ll l_, letting you know now, some of these will exist soon, some shorts might be touchy, style, trigger warning, you'll know when you read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-27 05:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayshiaginger/pseuds/kayshiaginger
Summary: A collection of stories based on the South Park series. I don't own the characters, only the shenanigans I put them up to in my writing.





	1. Introduction

_"Goin' down to South Park, gonna have myself a time."_

Hello!

Thank you for choosing to read my collection of South Park-based short stories. I intend to update often with new stories based on the friendly faces and humbled folk of South Park.

Some of these stories include (but not limited to!):

  * Scenarios I believe could actually take place in the town
  * Ridiculously off-the-wall scenarios
  * Typical pairing scenarios (ex: Style, Creek, etc.)
  * Unusual pairing scenarios
  * Enemy scenarios
  * Fluff
  * Angst
  * NSFW (see below)<strike></strike>

**Note:** If I make nsfw shorts, I'll probably create a separate work for those. <strike>Since that's a problem for folks despite the fact that nothing about SP is sfw.  
</strike>Also, I may do the same for x reader inserts if anyone requests one of those.

Please, if you have any suggestions on what kind of stories you'd like to see, don't hesitate to send me your suggestions! Whether you leave a comment on the story, or send me a DM with your suggestions, I'm happy to listen and give them a try!

And if you like my stories, I appreciate it very much! Feedback is always welcome!

Thank you!  
Kay

_"Come on down to South Park, and meet some friends of mine."_


	2. But Sharon, They Were on Sale!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan loses his inhaler. Trouble ensues.

“Dude, what do you _mean_ Cartman took your inhaler?”

“I just mean he took it. We were talking about something and I pulled it out because I was laughing too hard. I needed a huff of my inhaler because you know how my asthma gets sometimes. And he just… swiped it from my hand.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He already explained it twice now.

“...But _why_?” Kyle stopped in his tracks and turned to his friend, extreme confusion and concern on his face for Stan. There was also a hint of anger and disgust in Cartman, which wasn’t unusual anymore.

“He said only nerds and Jews use inhalers, and that girls don’t like guys who use them. He also told me Wendy looked at me funny when I use it,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck, not wanting to look over at his pal. There was a brief pause of awkward silence. Stan desperately just wanted to continue walking home. Kenny and Cartman had already separated from them earlier on.

“And you _believed _him, Cartman of all people. Stan you’re being stupid,” Kyle was frustrated now. _Stan’s never this gullible! Especially not with Cartman’s stupid reasoning!, _he thought. Stan blinked.

“...Yeah,” he sighed, feeling sheepishly uncomfortable with this exchange. “Listen, Kyle. I’m gonna head home, I’ll… I’ll see you later.” He turned the corner and finished his walk home, leaving a dumbfounded Kyle on his own.

Stan wiped his forehead as soon as he got inside his front door. He tossed his school bag onto the couch and continued on to the kitchen for a snack. His dad was sat at the table, a piece of paper on the surface in front of him.

“Dad?” Stan asked, stopped in the doorway.

“Yes Stan?” Randy was still staring with intense focus at the piece of paper, a handwritten note from Sharon with a list of things beneath it. A grocery list, perhaps.

“Where’s mom?” He asked as he walked towards the fridge for a drink.

“Oh she and Shelly went to visit Grandpa. She wanted you and I to go grocery shopping today, but I… I can’t make sense of this list,” his father responded. All things considered, it was a very simple list of _groceries_, in a neat and non-cursive handwriting that was going to be easier for Randy to comprehend; Sharon was well aware that her husband can be kind of an idiot sometimes. Stan was really confused why his mother trusted his father with shopping.

“Anyway, do you have any homework, son?” Randy asked without looking up.

“Yeah but I can do it later if you need me to go with you,” Stan said with a sip of his cola.

“Well, all right then. Let’s get going,” Randy set the paper down on the table and stood up. He walked through the living room and grabbed his jacket. Stan looked at the table and saw that his dad had planned on leaving the list, so he snagged it and tucked it into his pocket; after all, he knew very well that Randy wasn’t going to remember everything that was on it.

He followed his dad out to the garage and hopped into the backseat with his phone in hand. Despite Randy’s love-turn-hate of Whole Foods, he complained frequently how it wasn’t in town anymore and how it was annoying that he had to drive a little further to the next available grocery store, which was only another two minutes away. Stan quickly plugged his earbuds into his phone so he wouldn’t have to hear his dad rattling on and on about it.

Roughly fifteen minutes later and they were in the parking lot of the Walmart that had recently been built next to the previous location of the Whole Foods. Stan got out of the car and took out his headphones, he needed to keep an eye and an ear out for his father. They grabbed a cart and headed inside of the building.

“Stan do you think we need more crepes? I think Sharon said we needed more crepes. Or was it drapes?” Randy puzzled himself. Stan sighed, this was going to be a while. He checked the list: grapes.

“Dad why would mom want drapes for groceries? It’s grapes,” he said as he walked over to the produce aisle.

“...I knew that,” Randy said blankly as he followed his son.

After some shenanigans caused by Randy, followed by Stan having to correct the mistakes, they were a little more than halfway through the list. And only 35 minutes had passed. Stan began to feel a little uneasy. His chest had tightened a bit, and he had to breathe a little more deeply for air. Randy, of course, was ahead of his son with the shopping cart. Stan was slowing down a bit, he tapped his chest with his fist lightly. _Oh no,_ he began to worry.

_All this running around to keep dad out of trouble has been working me out,_ he thought. He began to reach into his pocket for an inhaler that wasn’t there. You’d think he’d be smart enough to have grabbed the backup he kept in his room, but today wasn’t one of those days where he was smart enough to do much of anything other than grab the neglected shopping list. Stan was stopped now. As he began gasping for air, a bit of a whistling noise sounded from him.

“Oh my god, Stan!” Randy exclaimed. Stan looked up at his dad, only to see that he wasn’t paying any attention to his son (who at this point desperately needed the medical attention). Instead, Randy was looking at the most _amazing _deal ever.

“Stan look! Lays chips are on sale! We can get, like, twenty for the price of one!” Randy immediately wrapped his arms around a bunch of bags on the shelf and scooped them up into his grasp. He tossed them all into the cart, squishing some of the other groceries.

Stan was wheezing and gasping a bit more now, angered by his father neglecting him. He dropped to his knees and scratched at his own chest.

“Dad… you asshole! I can’t… can’t breathe…!” Stan coughed and gagged.

“I can’t believe it either, son! Quick help me get more bags of chips, this is a steal!”

Fortunately for Stan, another adult was near and calling an ambulance to get there as soon as possible. Unfortunately for Stan, the last thing he saw before he passed out was his dad walking away with a cart now mostly full of potato chips.

When he came to, his eyes slowly opened to a sterile, white room. He could hear the beeping of a heart monitor. He also heard his mom and dad arguing. Well, it was more like his mom yelling at his dad.

“HOW COULD YOU NOT NOTICE HIM PRACTICALLY _DYING, _RANDY?” Sharon yelled, her hands thrown up in the air in annoyance.

“But Sharon, it was twenty bags of chips for the price of one!” Randy exclaimed innocently, currently eating from one of the many dozens of bags he had purchased and brought to the hospital with him. Sharon growled and was beginning another sentence when she heard rustling noises coming from Stan as he began to wake.

“Oh thank God!” she shouted in relief as she saw her baby was awake. She ran over to the side of his hospital bed and ran her fingers through his hair, holding him close.

“Mom? How long was I asleep?” Stan asked groggily as he rubbed his eyes. It was still a little hard to breathe, but not as much as it was before he passed out.

“Honey you were out for several hours. It’s past ten, now,” she said. He looked past her, out the window behind her. It was pitch black. “Oh but I’m so glad you’re awake, the doctors said you would be out cold for a lot longer than you were!”

He looked to the other side of the room and saw his dad casually munching on handfuls of chips at a time. He furrowed his brow.

“Oh Stan! I’m glad you’re awake, kiddo!” Randy said. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like he said. It was a little hard to understand over the mountains of potato chips he was shoving into his mouth; it was worse than trying to understand Kenny’s muffled voice under that thick parka of his. Stan rolled his eyes as his dad came over and stood on the other side of his bed.

“Chip?” Randy offered. Stan looked up at him with a disappointed expression.

“Fuck you, Dad.”

A nurse came in to check on Stan, and another came in with two of his three friends: Kyle and Kenny. They came to check on Stan, and Kenny even had a small bouquet of wildflowers he picked as a get well gift. Both nurses left after checking in with the mother and patient, leaving Sharon to ask her son some important questions.

“Young man, why didn’t you have your inhaler on you?”

“Uhh, well… Cartman took it from me.”

“Why on earth did you let him take your inhaler?!”

“He uh… he said girls wouldn’t like me if I used it.”

“Girls wouldn’t- wh-! Stan, you practically need that to _live!_” Sharon exclaimed.

“I told him, Mrs. Marsh. I told him he was being stupid,” Kyle chimed in.

“Mom, listen, I was going to grab the one in my room but I forgot about it.”

“When we get home, I’m calling Liane and demanding that her son return your inhaler. We can’t afford to pay for another one, especially after this hospital visit!” Sharon looked up at Randy and scrunched up her nose in anger. She looked back down at her precious little boy with a softer expression.

“You can talk to your friends for a little bit, it’s pretty late so they can’t stay for too long. The doctors said they’ll discharge us in the morning.” With that, she smacked the bag of chips out of Randy’s hand and he gasped, then the two of them left the room. But of course, not before Randy grabbed the fallen bag of chips, plus three more.

“Dude, I can’t believe you let Cartman just take your inhaler,” Kenny said as he set the little bouquet down on the side table.

“I know,” Stan said sheepishly.

“I told you that you were being stupid. And you didn’t listen to me,” Kyle stated matter-of-factly.

“I _know, _Kyle. Okay, can we like not talk about how much of an idiot I am? I get it, I was dumb. Thanks for rubbing it in,” Stan said as he looked down and twirled his thumbs around each other. The room grew heavy with silence. Kenny sat in a chair against the wall. Kyle stood by the bed, next to his best friend.

“Look, dude, I’m just glad you’re okay. You could’ve like, died,” Kyle said softly.


	3. You're a Good Boy, Sparky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Sparky have grown up. They'd do anything to help each other out.

_“Sparky! Here boy!” _

_A tiny puppy came bounding up to the little boy, who was holding a scarf out to him. The puppy sat very still, as still as an energetic pup could, as the bright red scarf was tied loosely around his neck. The raven-haired boy giggled as he scooped up the dog and held him close to his chest. He nuzzled his cheek against the soft furs on the top of his little head. _

_“Such a good boy, Sparky!” cooed the boy as he held the puppy up under his arms to look at it. Sparky gave a happy yip, his tongue draped out the side of his mouth and his little tail wagging like crazy. The boy brought him back close and hugged him._

_“You’re gonna be my best friend always, boy,” said he. The small pup nuzzled into his pal and gave a happy yip._

* * *

“Sparky! I’m home, buddy!” Stan called into the house as he gently closed the door behind him. An old dog came meandering in from the kitchen. His once completely brown fur had become greyish in some areas, namely around his muzzle, which gave him the look of an old man. His scarf was faded, now a soft pink compared to the bright red from his puppy years, and was tattered slightly from the countless washes and days of being worn and well-loved. His stature was a bit shaky, but he was still going strong after all these years.

Going on seventeen, in fact. Stan was now an adult, and had taken Sparky with him when he moved out of the house only a few years prior. He took extreme care of his best friend, and only left him alone when he had to go to work.

Sparky gave a deep, home-rattling bark and a slow wag of his tail. He padded up to Stan as he knelt down to greet him. His muzzle rested in the palm of the man’s hand, as his other hand scratched him behind his ears. Sparky’s eyes closed as he panted softly in appreciation.

“How are ya, boy? Staying out of trouble?” Stan asked with a chuckle. Of course Sparky would be staying out of trouble, he couldn’t do much anymore these days. Stan sat himself cross-legged by the door, and Sparky sat in front of him. His tail slightly thumped on the floor in contentment, as if to say _you know it pal_!

“You haven’t invited any of your boyfriends over, have you?” Stan asked next. Ever since he took the boat ride with his buddy, he knew what Sparky’s emotions were and immediately began to respect them, despite how unfamiliar he was with everything. After all, he made a promise to this doberman-wolf mix that they would always be best buds. Sparky opened his eyes and made a gravelly whine.

_I haven’t seen any of them in months, Stan! _Sparky seemed to say. Stan, of course, didn’t speak dog. He stood and went into the kitchen to restock the food and water dishes for his buddy. After so long, Sparky couldn’t eat dry food, so Stan would mix some dry food with wet food to make it easier for him. After a while, though, that was hard to manage, so Sparky was transitioned to a wet dog food diet (along with the occasional human food treat, so long as it was soft enough for the old geezer to chew).

Stan cracked open a can of one of Sparky’s favorites and even mixed in a few chunks of cheese for extra flavor. He had to prepare dinner for Sparky early because he was going back out tonight and wouldn’t be home until late.

“Don’t forget, buddy, I have a date with Wendy tonight. You know I don’t like to leave you alone, but I promise it won’t be more than a few hours,” Stan reassured his pal. He stuck around for about fifteen minutes more to spend time with his dog. When he stood to leave, Sparky whined softly. His ears drooped, and he looked up at Stan with those sad puppy eyes. Those sad puppy eyes that he never forgot how to use.

“Aww I know buddy, but I promise I’ll be back! I’ll leave the doggy door open in case you need to go outside, buddy,” Stan said cheerfully, earning a small tail wag from his furry friend. Stan grabbed his jacket and put his hat on his head, then opened the door to leave. Sparky gave an old man’s bark as he followed Stan out to say goodbye for the time being.

Stan waved to him and stepped down off the porch, walking toward his car. His hat became loose from the cool wind and took off down the driveway and across the street. With a huff, he went and jogged after it to try and catch it before it was gusted further along.

Sparky managed to see it before Stan did; a small glowing light that grew into two, gradually growing closer and brighter. With no hesitation, Sparky barked and leaped off the porch, down the yard, and hurdled himself into Stan. Stan fell to the ground on the opposite end of the street just as the tires screeched and spun out of control, the car crashing into a ditch several yards past. What Stan didn’t hear was Sparky’s yelp of pain over the sound of the screeching rubber.

Dazed, he stood up and brushed the snow off of himself, looked down at the sight of the car in the ditch, then back at the road in front of him. A fuzzy lump on the ground.

_Wait… a fuzzy LUMP ON THE GROUND! _Stan began to freak out as he called to Sparky, stumbling out of the snow and running over to the middle of the street.

Sparky was whimpering, his once brown and grey fur matted with blood in many places. Stan could tell just by looking at him that some of his buddy’s old bones were broken. Carefully, he scooped up his pal and quickly ran to his car. He carefully maneuvered himself to open the back seat and equally carefully set his injured friend on one of the blankets he kept in his car. Tears were rolling down his face out of worry, out of frustration, out of panic. He pulled out his phone and quickly called Wendy.

“Wendy! Sparky got hit by a car… I can’t make it tonight, I’m… I’m so sorry, I need to get to the vet right now!” He explained in a haste. “Call the police for me, the guy who hit him is in a ditch down the street.” Wendy was understanding. He was grateful for that. He got into the driver’s seat and fumbled to put the key in the ignition. Finally he managed to do so, and started the car up, backed out, and even sped a little on his way to the veterinary clinic. It was late at night, but luckily the vet in his town ran late hours.

He was fortunate that Sparky was still alive after that hit, He was fortunate that there was a doctor on duty, willing to help. He was fortunate to be able to sit (pace, rather) in the room directly next to where his pal was being checked out.

His fortune ran out, however, when the vet came in with a tear-stained face of her own.

“Sparky was hit bad. Some of his organs are failing as we speak. He doesn’t have much longer…” she trailed off as she saw the pained expression on Stan’s face.

“Please! You have to do something! He’s my best friend… I can’t be without him!” Stan shouted in a fit of desperation. The vet bowed her head. She was unable to do anything more than grant him the last few moments of his dog’s life. He was led into the room, Sparky was laying on the table in a position that wouldn’t put any more pressure on him than he was already feeling. Stan collapsed to his knees on the ground in front of the table. He held his palm out, and Sparky shakily leaned his muzzle into it. Stan brought his other, equally shaky hand up to rub the top of Sparky’s head and scratch behind the ears. Sparky wasn’t whimpering as much as he was earlier, but still soft whines sounded from him. His tail softly thumped on the table, happy that his best friend came to see him.

He knew. He knew he was dying. Sparky knew he didn’t have much longer, and he was happy with that. His best friend was with him. Sparky tried to lift his head up so that he could motion that he wanted Stan to take the scarf, but he was too weak. He could barely even lift his head out of the palm of Stan’s hand.

“Buddy, don’t push yourself too much… I don’t want your… your last few moments to be in pain,” Stan winced. “I love you, Sparky.”

He kept rubbing Sparky’s head and ears, running his hands through the fur, to comfort the both of them. He whispered happy things to his pup: memories of the past, how much he loved his best friend, and how much of a good boy he was. Sparky’s breath was slowing even more after what seemed like hours, but was rather only half an hour later. Wendy had come to see the two of them, too, but Sparky and Stan were locked onto each other.

Soon, Sparky’s tail stopped thumping. He struggled to licked Stan’s face, and drooped his head into his hands with a final whimper. He closed his eyes, as if he were going to sleep.

Stan crumbled. He hugged his pal’s lifeless body tight and sobbed. Sobbed harder than he had ever before. He didn’t just lose his pet, he lost his closest friend. Several minutes passed, and he finally let go, all cried out. He untied the scarf around Sparky’s neck and clenched it tightly in his hand. It would never be able to return to its owner.

“You’re a good boy, Sparky…” Stan murmured.


	4. You're My Role Model, Bro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clyde really looks up to Craig. So emotionless and collected. Clyde decides he wants to be just like him.

Ever since I watched Craig Tucker first give Mr. Garrison the middle finger, I thought he was the coolest dude in our class. He and I were already pretty good friends, but watching him get sent to the guidance office was mesmerizing to me in a way. I wanna be as chill and carefree as Craig. Maybe if I can be like him, I can be just as cool as him.

"Clyde! I asked you a question," Mr. Garrison snapped. I refocused my attention as I could feel my face growing warm from embarrassment. I heard the others chuckling a little as I showed my visible confusion.

"Huh?" I said. I shouldn't have let my mind wander. Oh geez. I watched as Mr. Garrison pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.  
"Jesus Christ, Clyde, I just want you to answer a math problem. What's five times two?"  
"...Twelve?" The room was silent.  
"Oookay, let's get an answer from someone who isn't a complete freakin' retard," Garrison said. I knew that wasn't the answer but I really just didn't want the spotlight on me anymore. I slumped over my desk and propped my head up on my elbow, chin rested in hand. I hate this.

Class rolled on like normal and soon Craig rejoined us, flipping off the teacher when he wasn't looking. I chuckled to myself. Craig slid back into his seat, poker-faced. I glanced over at him and watched him lean back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the top of his desk. He didn't stay long though, as soon as Garrison saw him posed the way he was, he demanded Craig sit properly at his desk. That, of course, earned him another middle finger, which earned Craig a trip back to the office.

Soon enough the bell rang, a signal for lunch time. I put my things away in my desk and left the room shortly after everyone else had already stormed out. On the way there I grouped up with Jimmy, hustling himself down to the cafeteria. We chatted for a bit and he laid a couple jokes on me. Honestly? He was a pretty funny dude. We entered the lunch room and got in line. From back here I could hear Eric at the front of the line, singing about what lunch was for today, Butters joining in. Butters was okay, and Eric could be too sometimes, but often he was just real annoying.

Jimmy was still talking to me, and I was trying my best to listen, honest, but my mind was clouded with thoughts. I was trying to think about how I could be chill. Cool. Carefree. Anything but what I was now. I had come to the conclusion that I basically need to conduct an experiment and study Craig. Watch how he handles situations and put my observations to the test.

With my lunch finally in hand, and Jimmy's too so he wouldn't have to struggle to support himself as well as carrying his book and his lunch tray, we took our seats at our usual table. Craig, Token, Butters, and Eric and his friends were all already seated and talking about the Terrence and Phillip episode that aired last night. I stayed quiet and sunk my teeth into my sandwich, every once in a while glancing up over at Craig, who was sat across from me. He was also quiet for the most part, mostly just listening in and occasionally giving his opinion or a change of subject. Thankfully nobody seemed to notice me studying him.

Over the next few days, I tried to follow in his footsteps as much as I could. Tweek was out sick for a few of those days, so whenever we had partner projects, any chance I get I'd ask Craig if he'd be my partner. Out on the playground, I'd watch him chill by sitting on the swing set with Tweek and telling some of the younger kids to fuck off, or watch him effortlessly play catch with some of the others as they tossed a football back and forth. At lunchtime, he was relatively quiet, save for the times he'd insult someone at the table (joking or not I couldn't really tell) or add his input to the conversation. He went to the guidance office or the principal's office pretty regularly. I was surprised that PC Principal never suspended him or even expelled him for his constant misbehaving. If anything, he just got detention fairly often.

On the days he didn't have detention (which were seldom), we would walk home together. Sure we could've taken the school bus, but he hated listening to all the younger kids whine and shriek. I couldn't blame him. Everyone who took that bus was super rowdy and annoying. I'd watch him stuff his hands into his coat pockets as we would walk, and I'd fall into step and do the same.

The days turned into weeks. In those weeks that followed, I'd gotten pretty good at following in Craig's footsteps. I'd even gotten sent to the office a few times. Sure it was a little nerve-wracking, but I felt like I was starting to become a cooler version of myself. Mr. Mackey saw it differently.

"Now Clyde, I don't understand where all this crude behavior is coming from, m'kay. I understand that your mother, uh, she passed away just a few months ago, right?" Mr. Mackey questioned. God, I hated thinking about that. Thinking about her. I loved her, but she wasn't the greatest mother. I was silent, but I nodded.

"M'kay, now I understand that some people find it hard to process the loss of a loved one, do you think maybe the grief has finally caught up to you and that's why you're lashing out?" He asked. I didn't answer. I didn't care for this. I was starting to become overwhelmed, but I knew I couldn't reveal that. I had to stay strong. I had to keep that emotion pinned down. When I didn't answer, Mackey continued talking to me about how it was okay to feel what I'm feeling and that if there's any trouble I was going through that I should talk to him or my dad or confide in my friends. Blah blah blah. Finally, he let me return to class.

On my way back to the room I passed Craig, who was on his way for the daily visit to the guidance office. He gave me a nod of his head, hands stuffed into his pockets. I gave a slight nod back and when we passed and couldn't see each other's faces anymore, I smiled. Was he proud of me or something? I forced my smile to fade, entered the classroom and slid into my seat. Garrison was talking about some TV show when I quietly came back in.

"How nice of you to join us, Clyde," he said rather sarcastically. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my seat. A couple of the kids around me glanced over at me. Mr. Garrison frowned and, instead of making some insulting comment, continued on his rant about whatever he was having a one-sided discussion about before.

Soon another day of acting more like my friend was complete. Today was one of those days where he didn't have detention, so we walked home. I walked beside him with my bag slung over one shoulder, my hands in my pockets, my shoulders relaxed. I think he noticed. And I know he noticed. He's noticed everything I've been up to. Every. Thing.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at me. I had taken a few steps past him already, thinking he was still beside me. I turned around and looked at him, confused.

"What do you mean?" I asked, a slight nervous crack in my voice.  
"You _know _what I mean, dude," he said.  
"No, I really don't."  
"You've been copying me. Everything I do. Everything you've been doing for weeks now is nothing like you. What the fuck is your problem?"  
"I..." I trailed off before I could really start. I... I don't even know what my problem is. Tears were beginning to well up in the corners of my eyes. Oh god, please don't let me break down. Please don't let him be mad at me. I can't handle that.

"Clyde? Answer me, dude."

I snapped. I broke down. I started rubbing furiously at my eyes before tears could pour down my cheeks. I sniffled and choked up.

"I-I'm sorry, Craig. I just... I was tired... of being me. I watch you and you're just so, so calm and collected and carefree and that's everything I'm not. Please don't be mad at me. I look up to you dude, I just... I wasn't trying to be creepy or weird or anything like that," I managed to spurt out quite a lot. "I-I don't mean to sound or act like an asshole, I've always thought you were the coolest guy in our grade and I was like 'wow this guy's my friend and he's so fucking chill' and I'm nothing like that, I've never been chill and when I try I suppress literally every emotion and I... I..."

"Dude, dude!" He cut me off before I could over-explain any further. "Clyde, calm down!"

It was too late to do that. I was hunched over, trying to hide my face. God if he tells anyone I cried in front of him I'm finished. I'll be laughed at by everyone. I was choking back sobs and I felt so vulnerable. This felt so much worse to me than anything I've experienced before, and I've dealt with Eric getting us captured by Somalian pirates. I've dealt with being kicked out of and ignored during our fantasy game for having lost that damn stick. I couldn't bear to be laughed at for this emotional outbreak, but even worse yet I couldn't bear the thought of losing my closest friend.

I felt his hand on my back. Gentle and calm. Reassuring. Unlike anything I knew about Craig, unless he was with Tweek.

"Clyde, it's okay dude."  
"Wh-?" I look up at him. My face probably looked like ass. It felt like it.  
"Listen, I'm gonna tell you a secret. Okay?" He was hunched over with me. It gave me a sense of comfort that he wasn't making me expose my face to the world. I sniffed and nodded, rubbing at my face to try and dry it from all the tears and snot. He leaned in a bit more and spoke in a quieter voice.

"I'm really not as collected as I appear to be. You should hear how much I vent to Tweek about shit. Honestly? I'm working on trying to _not_ suppress my emotions, and having Tweek around has been a great help for me."

He stood up straight and I followed suit to look at him. He was... smiling at me. Albeit a small, casual smile, but still one nonetheless.

"You're not m-mad at me?" I asked.  
"No way, I was just worried you were doing some stupid shit," he laughed. I sighed in relief.  
"Thank God... I dunno if I could take it if you, of all people, were mad at me."

He pulled me in for a bear hug. Something I _never _would have expected. It was really comforting, honestly. When he pulled away he pocketed his hands.

"Let's go to my house and play video games or something," he offered. I smiled and nodded as we turned and kept walking. The rest of our walk home this time was far less quiet than the ones before it.

Thanks for being my role model, Craig.


	5. We Don't Write Christmas Letters Often

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though Ike is Jewish, he wants to write a letter to Santa with the rest of the kindergartners.

The wintertime holidays in South Park were always so festive and cozy. The townspeople could be seen decorating their homes and businesses all around. Fresh and powdery snow lay upon the ground, glistening and sparkling in the sun. Children of South Park were all in their last few days of school before the winter break.

In kindergarten, Ike Broflovski and his classmates are all writing letters to Santa. Unnecessary for Ike, since he was Jewish, but he wanted to participate regardless because he wanted to fit in with the others. The teacher had laid out dozens of sheets of construction paper, crayons, coloured pencils, glitter, glue, and other fun art supplies for the students to write letters and make cards for Santa Claus.

Ike, however, wasn't entirely sure what to do. He knew what he wanted for Hanukkah, but for Christmas? His family didn't celebrate. Well, not entirely. He remembered that Kyle got everyone in town to believe in Mr. Hankey over the holidays, and Ike supposed that perhaps, that was the only technicality in a Jew celebrating Christmas. At least in South Park, that is.

He sat at his desk just staring at a blank piece of construction paper set out before him. Lots of crayons were sprawled out on the table he sat at because his classmates were all busy scribbling and coloring away on their own letters. He frowned and leaned over his desk, sat like Charlie Brown often would at the brick wall when troubled. His eyes wandered to look at some of the other papers at his table. One of his friends drew a picture of him and Santa playing on the newest game system. Another drew her feeding Rudolph, wearing a very pretty princess dress. Surely everyone in the class had written, in some form or another, lots of off-the-wall requests for Santa to deliver.

"What's wrong, Ike? Don't you want to write a letter to Santa?" His teacher asked, noticing that his paper was still blank. Ike shook his head. That wasn't what the problem was.

"Do you need any help, sweetie?" Ike shook his head once more.  
"I dunno what to write!" He exclaimed.  
"Well I know that your family celebrates a different holiday than some of your friends. If you don't want to, you don't have to write a letter to Santa," she explained with a smile. Ike sighed and frowned, a little annoyed. He wanted to. It was something new to him and he liked to try something new. He just wasn't sure what to write.

Soon the recess bell rang and everyone dressed into their coats and hats and mittens to run outside and play. Everyone except Ike. He stayed at his desk and thought. Thought about what he could ask for from Santa. Finally, he picked up a coloured pencil and began to write as carefully as he could. There were, naturally, a few errors, but not many. Occasionally a letter would appear backwards.

_Dear satan,  
my naem is Ike. i am jewish, but this year i wanted to rite a letter to u becaus i wanted to fit in at school. _

He paused. He didn't really know what else to say.

_i gues i shoud tell u what i want for chrismas. _

Ike scratched his head. He knew what he wanted, but it felt odd to be writing to Santa. Regardless, he finished writing his letter and drew a little maple leaf by his name at the end of it. His classmates were just coming back in from recess, covered in snow. They all removed their snow clothes and the teacher brought in fresh hot chocolates from the cafeteria for them all to warm up with. Soon after, the teacher taught them all how to put their letters into envelopes and put Santa's address on them. Ike wasn't paying much attention, so he just wrote "Satan" on it thinking he wrote Santa, then put a stamp in the corner.

As the school day neared to a finish, the entire school was getting ready to head home for the winter break. Ike waited for his big brother, Kyle and his friends so they could all get on the bus together.

"Kyle when we get off the bus can we go to the mailbox?" Ike asked. Kyle, not paying much attention, responded with a "yeah, yeah sure, Ike".

The Canadian sunk into his bus seat and watched the snowy trees and the tall buildings and the dozens of people pass by. The bus made a few stops before it finally became their stop; Ike got off first, followed by Kyle, then Stan, Kenny, and Eric. Ike walked ahead of them down the street, the four behind him walking in twos along the recently plowed sidewalk. Ike listened silently as he heard Eric and Kyle bicker, nothing unusual to him.

Soon Eric broke away from the group to go to his own home, then Kenny waved goodbye and carried on to his as well. Ike turned to tug at Kyle's sleeve as they neared the mailbox at the end of their driveway. He stopped talking to Stan to look at Ike and smiled.

"That's right! I didn't forget I'd help you, Ike," Kyle said as they approached the mailbox. He said bye to Stan as he walked on to his house next door.

"All right, Ike, are you ready?" He lifted Ike up so he could reach the mailbox better. Ike smiled as he opened the little door and stuffed the letter inside, then was lowered down. Kyle lifted the little flag on the side up, and they walked into the house together. Ike ran up to his room and directly to his window to watch for the mailman, even though he had already made his rounds for the day and wouldn't be able to pick up the letter until the next day.

* * *

While it may be cold, snowy, and breathtaking on the surface, deep below the Earth was ablazed with grim heat and despair. Hell has always been a raging fire, ruled by the treacherous and antagonizing dark lord, Satan. Anybody who had the misfortune of burning for eternity dared not to cross his evilness. Or at least, that's what the newest lost souls of Hell would think.

Satan was sat in his cozy little condo, reading glasses on, invested deep into a novel. A knock on his door broke his focus and he looked up to the entrance of his home.

"I wonder what that could be?" He spoke to himself as he rose and made his way to the door. When he opened it, a much smaller demon clad in a mail carrier's outfit presented a letter addressed directly to him. Satan took the letter and held it up to his eyes to read it better. He rarely received letters. Especially not from anyone in the overworld.

With a thanks to the mail-demon, he closed the door and studied the childish handwriting on the envelope. It was a little shaky, scrawled in large blocky letters with a dark green colored pencil. He smiled softly and returned to his recliner as he carefully opened the envelope.

The letter was quaint and rather adorable. Satan knew right away that it was written by a small human, though he wasn't sure this note was intentionally written for him. It was a Christmas letter, meant to be sent to Santa, but the child had misspelled the name. Satan sighed, but it was all right! The sentiment was there, and the note put a smile on his face.

A problem had arose though: he couldn't let this child down! Satan began to devise a plan to fulfill little Ike's wishes.

* * *

Christmas morning came around fast for the town of South Park. All was quiet in the streets; businesses were closed for the holiday. Families were beginning to wake up in the early morning hours. Children woke their parents in excitement that Santa had visited the night before.

At the Broflovski household, however, they were celebrating the third day of Hanukkah. Their home was decorated with many traditional items from their religious faith. For the Broflovskis, they started their mornings all sleeping in. Except for Ike, who had first opened his eyes at seven o'clock this morning. It was now ten o'clock, and the rest of his family were beginning to wake. Ike had been staring out the window of his bedroom when he heard a knock on his door.

"Ike, sweetie, are you awake? Your father's making breakfast!" called his mother. Ike sighed and hopped down from his spot, then went downstairs to sit at the dining table for breakfast. Gerald set out platefuls of delicious food for everyone. They had all just settled in to eat when a burst of flame appeared out of no where in the middle of the living room. Sheila and Gerald screamed as they leapt from their seats. Kyle dropped his fork before it could even reach his mouth, which was dropped down in surprise as the flames grew but never spread. Ike tried to hide under his table.

The flames died down and a figure stood before them. A gruesome-looking creature, dressed in a coat and hat like Santa's. A large sack was slung over his shoulder and rested against his back. There was a happy grin on his face as he put on his best Santa impression.

"Ho ho! I come with gifts for an Ike Broflovski," he exclaimed. He dropped the bag down and opened it up, showing just a few wrapped gifts in simple, plaid wrapping paper. Ike poked his head out from under the table and gasped.

"Santa!" He exclaimed as he ran over.  
"Ike, what are you-!" Sheila began, unable to finish as she watched her son hug the large hoof of the ruler of the underworld. Satan chuckled, his deep growl vibrating through the house. He looked up to the family still sat at the table, awestruck and uncertain. He knelt down and returned the hug to Ike, knowing he had to be extremely gentle. He then released Ike and stood once more.

"Have a happy holidays, folks!" Satan cheered as he smiled and waved before a burst of flame engulfed him and died out once more. Ike giggled as he ripped open the three presents "Santa" had brought for him. He hadn't asked for much, he didn't want a whole lot.

Everyone else, however, was still confused and terrified.

"What the fuck?" Kyle asked.


	6. Maybe They're Not So Bad After All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe and Gregory go on a camping trip that changes Christophe's perspective.

Christophe and his mother were invited on a camping trip with Gregory's family for a weekend. Christophe really wanted to go; he loved the outdoors. He begged his mother if they could, and after constant pleas and promises of taking care of his chores, his mother agreed. The following weekend, the five of them were driving together in the Thorne's vehicle out into the wilderness for their trip.

It was well into Friday afternoon when they finally reached their campsite, a cozy little clearing surrounded by dozens upon dozens of trees and shrubbery of all kinds. The campground was maybe an hour away from South Park, and their campsite was a mile or so away from the next closest site.

As soon as the car was parked, Christophe immediately opened the door and rushed out to be in the fresh air. He was excited to be out in the wild, especially with Gregory and their families. Although he wouldn't show it to them, he was smiling. He was happy.

They began to set up camp. Three tents were placed about the small campsite in a way that they each had their own sort of privacy from one another. One was set up for Gregory's mother and father, one set up for Christophe's mother (which doubled as the "supply closet", Mrs. DeLorne didn't mind), and one set up for the boys. Mr. Thorne was putting together a firepit, with the help of his son and Christophe. Together they collected rocks to build around the pit so that the fire could stay contained. Gregory's father explained to them how to start a fire and expanded their survival skills. And just like that, a small fire was going.

It was evening by the time they had everything set up, perhaps seven or eight o'clock. Greg and Chris were busy roasting hot dogs for dinner while the parents chatted. Chris was unintentionally listening in on them, and heard mention that there was a lake nearby.

"Mother? Could we go swimming in ze lake tomorrow?" He cocked his head up and looked at her, hopeful.  
"Non, Christophe. It's much too far from here, you're better off getting lost in ze woods," she responded, her accent thick. Her son's shoulders slumped.  
"No no, it's a quaint little lake not far from here at all, actually. Gregory's been there plenty of times, he knows the way," Greg's mother chimed. Mrs. DeLorne went silent, but accepted it. She trusted her son with Gregory.

The sun had set, plunging everyone into a deeper twilight, so deep that it soon became almost pitch black. The only thing to illuminate their campsite was the slowly dying fire, as well as a small lantern closer to the tents so they could see their way back over to them. The parents all retired to their respective tents for the night; Greg's father explained how to put out the fire when the boys were ready to go to sleep themselves.

Both of them stayed up for another hour or so, just talking and laughing, eating roasted marshmallows, and enjoying the cool mountain air. A soft breeze rustled the leaves on the trees around them. They were having a good time when a noise sounded through the wilderness.

A deep howl vibrated throughout the forest and echoed off the mountains. Christophe jumped from his seat on the log and fell backwards with a yelp. He nearly hit his head off the ground.

"Fucking Christ!" He shouted, nearly waking up the parents. "No thanks! Zat's a big non from me!" He scrambled to cower behind Gregory. Ever since he was much littler, he's been deeply terrified of dogs of any kind. Friendly or not.

Greg laughed and turned his head to look over his shoulder. He saw the look on his friend's face and sighed with concern.

"It's only a wolf, Christophe, and it's very far away. They don't like to come near the campsites," he reassured him. Christophe wouldn't have it.  
"I don't care! Fuck zat noise! Fuck dogs!" He gripped his friends arm as he cursed at the wolf, who had no idea it was being cursed at and therefore no care for the small boy.

"Why don't we put the fire out and go to bed?" Gregory suggested.  
"Okay... okay, oui. Fine," Chris agreed. He was hesitant. How could he forget that wolves lived in the forest? He sighed at himself for being stupid. Regardless, the two put the fire out and made sure it was completely died down before returning to their tent. They settled in for the night, but Christophe was still on edge. His body was tense.

After much worry, he finally managed to drift off to sleep. It was restless and bleak, but it was sleep regardless.

Fortunately, the rest of their camping trip went off without a hitch. When Sunday rolled around, they tore down everything and packed up their belongings. Greg's father taught the boys to always leave a campsite how they found it: free of trash and ready for whoever may be camping next.

* * *

It had been a few days since. Gregory and Christophe were walking down the main street when Clyde came into view with his dog, Rex. Christophe's eyes widened and he gulped. His muscles tensed and he felt extremely uneasy.

_Damn this! _he thought. He stopped in his tracks. Gregory stopped a few steps ahead when he noticed Chris wasn't at his side any longer. He turned to look at him and tilted his head in curiosity.

"Are you okay, Christophe?" He asked. Christophe clenched and unclenched his fists and swallowed the lump in his throat.  
"Gregory..." he began, "I am going to pet zat dog coming zis way. Under no circumstance should you let me back down."

His friend looked back ahead of them at Clyde with his dog. He turned again and nodded. Gregory was impressed that he was making a conscious effort to face his fear of canines, and he respected Christophe greatly for this decision.

"I'll go ask if it's all right that you pet him, okay? Just stay put," Gregory explained. He then jogged up to Clyde and turned so he could walk alongside him as he explained what Christophe wanted to do. Clyde glanced over in his direction, then smiled and nodded at the blond. Gregory grinned and trotted back over to Christophe's side, just in time for Clyde and his pup to stand in front of the two of them.

"Sit, Rex," Clyde commanded. Rex happily obliged and plopped himself down on the sidewalk, his tail thumping slightly on the concrete and his tongue hanging out his mouth as he panted. Christophe stood stiller than a statue. He couldn't back down now though, this is the closest he's ever been to a dog willingly! Clyde gripped the leash in a way that showed Chris that he wouldn't allow the dog to jump on him if he got too excited.

_Christ,_ he thought. Chris clenched and unclenched his fists a few more times as he closed his eyes. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Once more. Twice more. He relaxed his muscles as much as he possibly could, and carefully reached his hand out to Rex. He retracted almost immediately when he saw that Rex was sniffing his hand.

"It's okay dude, Rex is always a super chill dog. Plus, I've got a tight hold on his leash so you should be okay," Clyde explained reassuringly. He tucked his free hand into his pocket and smiled at Christophe, who nodded and took another deep breath. Carefully, Chris reached back down to the pup and held his hand out for him to sniff.

Rex gently nudged Christophe's hand with his nose, a sign that it was okay to touch him. He flinched a little, but soon he was rubbing the top of Rex's head. He was... soft. And fluffy. And warm.

A smile spread across his face as he knelt down to pet the dog some more. Scratching behind its ears. Under its chin. Beneath its collar. Anywhere and everywhere. Christophe, for the first time, was absolutely enjoying the presence of a canine. And it felt... it felt so relaxing to be petting one. He was cooing at Rex and talking to him and just enjoying the company of Clyde's dog.

"Hey, tough guy, you're not so scary after all, non?" He cooed to Rex, who was panting happily and enjoying all of the attention. He gave a bark as if he were answering Christophe's question, which spooked the boy a little, but he wouldn't let it frighten him off.

Christophe was feeling... he didn't even know. It was just a huge swirl of emotions that he couldn't really pinpoint which he was feeling more. Frightened? Relieved? Excited? All of them. He was definitely feeling overwhelmed, and soon retracted from the pup and stood. Looking up at Clyde, he smiled meekly.

"Thanks," he said. "I really appreciate zis."  
"Hey, no problem man!" Clyde said. He gave a small whistle to Rex, who stood up and wagged his tail. And just as quickly as they had came, they were off walking again. Christophe breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well? How do you feel?" Gregory asked, impressed and proud.  
"I feel AMAZING!" Christophe shouted. "Holy sheet! I can't believe I finally pet a dog! And I wasn't scared out of my fucking mind!" He exclaimed. He was joyous. He was happy. He looked fear in the eye and intimidated it. Overcame it.

In fact, he was so pumped full of adrenaline that he took off towards home, leaving Gregory behind.

"Hey!! Where are you going?!" Greg called out as he tried to run after him.  
"I have to tell my mother I pet a dog!" He exclaimed.


End file.
